Part 8 And as she sat on her bed that night, musing and half-undressed, she began to run one hand down her arm and scrutinize the soft flow of muscle under her skin. She positioned it over her arm, placing the firing end in Rhea’s mouth. The Oriental waterfronts were rank with the stuff. There isn’t a husband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn’t have blessed that pistol in your hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight. Sanguine they were not. There was a gallows erected, and a great mob round it—thousands of people, and all with white faces like corpses.
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